


You Can't Teach an Old Wyrm New Tricks

by In_the_eyes_of_the_beholder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_the_eyes_of_the_beholder/pseuds/In_the_eyes_of_the_beholder
Summary: October 31st, 1981 marked the day the dark lord was defeated. November 10, 1981 marked the death of Harry Potter. The soul of an old Wyrm now resides in the body of the infant.





	1. Chapter 1

I do not own HP.

Xx 

"well boy? My breakfast isn't going to cook itself!" the latch on his door slammed shut with a resounding metal clang as the pig man walked away.

Bahamut sighed as he slowly moved into a sitting position. Eleven years, eleven bloody years he's been dealing with the ruddy pig man and his pig family. One day, yes, one day he'd roast the pig man alive and eat him. That's what any other dragon would have done long ago. Unfortunately, Bahamut couldn't do that right now as he had yet to regain his full strength. Hell, he had yet to regain any strength as he was, to busy keeping this fragile body alive. If it died… he shuddered to think what would happen to his soul if it did.

Slowly he got up. stretching malnourished aching muscles and started another day doing the pig family's bidding. Cooking, cleaning, gardening, most of the chores the pig son should be doing really. But alas it wasn't in the cards it seemed. Bahamut had flown through this worlds skys for many millennia. Seen many humans and their strange going ons. At his age nothing much should have surprised him. It did come as a shock however when the pig family had started to force him to into slavery at a young age. From what he understood the neck woman was brood kin to this body's mother. He understood humans fairly well from his own dealings with the fragile beings sure, but this? He wasn't sure what the neck woman's motivations were.

Bahamut was brought out of his thoughts a spoon collided with the back of his head. "pay attention boy! If you burn my bacon, you'll regret it!" his eye twitched, snarling at the man in his mind. Slow roast he decided. Low heat with a touch of honey. That's how he was going to prepare the pig man when he got his body back. Just then the pig son walked in as well. His piggy blue eyes slowly counting out the mound of presents that were on the table.

"thirty-six? That's two less than last year!" the pig son threw a tantrum. The neck woman doing all she could to calm her brood down. Bahamut plated the bacon and eggs he had been overseeing, swiping a few pieces of the cooked pig stomach for himself, and placing it in front of the pig family with the same enthusiasm one fills a trough on a farm. He decided not to stay for the pig sons' tantrum. Opting for the dusty relatively barren solace of the cupboard. He could understand why some people might not want to stay in a dusty cupboard under some stairs.  
Bahamut didn't mind it though. He was a dragon after all. Dragons had a preference for caves, though those caves were normally filled with mounds of gold and jewels. Well his old cave was at least, for he was a very, very old dragon. His newer kin preferred to stay bound to their reservations and live lazy carefree lives. Bunch of freeloading hippies if you ask him.

He was sure his brother, Hraesvelgr, would be rolling over in his hoard to see his descendants so lazily accepting their lot in life. Well Bahamut would be sure he would if the lazy bastard would ever wake up. though he did wonder what his younger siblings were up to these days. He knew Nidhogg was off trying to fight, fuck or kill something or other. Midgardsormr was still swimming and eating and just generally being a glutenous fuck last time he checked.

Yes, the old guard seemed to be forgotten these days. What would father Tiamat say? Well probably nothing, he mused. Tiamat was more the 'beat-you-till-you-got-the-message' sort of parent. Bahamut briefly wondered what he'd have to say about his current situation? Trapped in the fragile body of a human child? Disgraceful.

Briefly he overheard the pig man and the neck woman arguing over something or other in the kitchen. Something about the squib woman who always watched him on days like today. He gave it little thought as he closed his eyes and briefly looked inward. He developed this habit long ago when this body was that of an infant. He was checking on this body and the souls inhabiting it. Souls are powerful things. Every creature has one. Some are large, like his. Some are small, like a squirrel. A body is designed to fit a specific size of soul. You can't have more than one soul occupying a body. If this happens one soul would inevitably make the other wither away to nothing. That is exactly what happened when he was stricken of his power and crammed, rather uncomfortably he might add, into the body of a yearling child.

During this time, he was extremely confused and thrashed around within the body trying to force his way out. Bahamut felt slightly guilty at this now. By the time he calmed down the damage was done. The child's soul was damaged and began fading. It would have done this over time of course, his soul was to large for the body to be able to comfortably contain them both, his draconic core and the child's budding magical core. That didn't mean he hadn't felt guilty over it. He spent the next few days as the soul left this plane trying to soothe it and comfort it until it finally ebbed away. All that was left of Harry James Potter was a small ball of magic, the infants core.

Bahamut faintly noted that the pig son's cronies had arrived. He paid them little mind as he looked at the other soul that was STILL here. He noticed it several days after the yearling's soul had vanished. At first, he hadn't known what it was. Less like a soul more like a leech. Black and greasy, evil seeped out of it like a dementor on the hunt. It was latched onto him. Feeding off his soul to keep alive. This he would not allow. So as before he threw another rage filled tantrum in the body. Thrashing and screaming till the leech was thrown off his soul. Bahamut downed it in a sea of draconic magic. He threw everything he had at it. But it. Would. Not. Die! This enraged him every time he looked at the blasted leech. On the bright side, it had eroded over the years. Right now, it looked like a dried-up raisin. this was a good thing, Bahamut supposed, it meant it would be gone sooner than later

Bahamut was torn from his musing as his cupboard door was thrown open by the pigman. "get your coat boy! Ms. Fig can't watch you today so you're coming with us." The pig man grabbed Bahamut by his baggy hand me down shirt. "and if you ruin my dudders special day. You. Will. Regret it." He was tossed violently back against the wall of his room.

Great… he thought. A whole day with the pig boy and his goons. A splitting headache started to form behind his eyes. He swore he could hear the leech laughing at him.

Xx 

Hello.. You may be confused as to why a dragon is inhabiting Harry's body. But what would a good story be if showed all my cards in the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own HP

Xx 

Bahamut sat in his room at the leaky cauldron with a bemused smile on his face. He played the events of the last few days over again in his mind. All starting when his “letter” from some magic school in the highlands arrived. Toadwarts or some such nonsense. 

The day itself was highly unremarkable in its normality. For him it was another day in the hell that was the last few years. It changed when he got the mail. He threw it at the pigman and thought nothing of it until the pigman started screaming about “freakishness”. After that they went on “vacation.” the letters seemingly following them wherever they went, until they landed an old lighthouse on the anniversary of this body's death. Then a huge half giant came bursting through the door demanding to see him. This had led to even further amusement when he gave the pig son a pig tail. He grinned at this notion. It seemed the fates had a sense of humor after all, old bitchy crones they may be. Shortly after that he had taken him here. To this “diagon alley” place. 

This had been an unexpected boon to him. The moment he stepped foot into this place he had almost passed out. He had felt like a man dying of thirst suddenly drowning in an ocean. Before he was barely able to pull what scraps of ambient magic was in the air into himself. Most of it whent to keeping himself alive. Now, he was pulling it into himself at an unbridled rate. This significantly dialing forward his timetable of getting his body back. 

Better still was when the half giant had taken him into the goblin nations bowls to get gold out of his “trust” vault. The moment he saw the gleaming pile he nearly fainted again. All of his dragon instinct told him to go sit on top of his little hoard and kill all those who came close. He almost did to, when the half giant had scooped a hand full of the glimmering coins into a bag. Never noticing the snarl that had made its way onto the Bahamut's face. The goblin did though, to its infinite amusement he was sure. 

The real amusement came when it was time to get his wand. The little stick things the wizards used to channel their magic. The wood man, Ollivander was a very eccentric wizard. He smelled of death and varnish. The varnish part being from the wands. the death he was quite sure was from the fact the man wasn't really a man at all, but an old gnarled tree spirit in fleshy disguise. They were not a particularly a strong sort but they lived exceedingly long lives. He figured the old spirit had maybe a good hundred years left in him if he was lucky. 

The actual process of selecting a wand was a trying and boring process. Most of them either flying out of his hand or exploding when they tried to connect to his draconic core. The old tree being outright shocked when the phoenix feather wand burst into flames before turning into ash in his palm. He left muttering after that and the half giant started to worry. He returned with a white runed box. Taking the white wand from the box and handing it to him. A yellow glow had surrounded him. The wand had “chosen” him. Which bemused him greatly. Fourteen inches, dragon bone with a basilisk fang core. The Old tree said he made it a few centuries back, an experiment in wandlore he said, and never found an owner until today. Something about it trying to kill most of the humans who tried to wield it. 

After that, the half giant had taken him to get his robes fitted. During the fitting he had an interesting encounter with a small blond human. Draco something. He rather liked the boy. He had an arrogance around him that Bahamut found amusing. Oh how humans liked to throw their names and titles. It was amusing… well as amusing as an ant mouthing off to a god could get. 

After that the half giant had dropped him off at the inn in front of the ally. Looping right back around to his current state of amused reminiscing in his tiny inn room. Deciding that now was a good a time as any to make a visit to the goblin sanctuary Bahamut rose from his bed at the inn. Stretching his arms above his head enjoying the myriad of pops his spine and shoulders made. And started making his way out of the inn. 

he left the inn and started walking towards the goblin stronghold. There wizards were fools for thinking it was a bank. Please, he mused. You don't have archers holds and disguised ballistas as decoration. Though he did take a few minutes to gaze at his surroundings as he made his way towards to the home of the entire goblin nation. The shops that lined the street were a welcome change from the hell of his, (was youth even the right word?) humble beginnings. Their bright colors and entrancing displays made him smile. historically he may have never been that big of a fan of the humans but he couldn't fault them on all that they’d accomplish on their short time in this world. 

Reaching his destination he nodded his head at the two guards that stood at the front of the bank and walked into the stronghold head held high and made his way to the teller. The fat ugly thing didn't even look up from his work as he approached. “I need to see my vault please.” 

“Key?” the gnarled creacher stuck its hand out expectantly. 

This annoyed bahamut. This ugly little creature not even acknowledging him. Well to be honest he wouldn't have either in his current form. “I'm afraid the half giant took it with him yesterday. I'll need to have another one made or the original retrieved.” 

The goblin looked at him with what was probably no small amount of disgust. “Name?” 

“Potter” bahamut stated flatly. If he was honest with himself he had only really found his bodys name out a few days ago. The pigman had almost exclusively referred to him as “boy” or “freak.” 

“One moment” the goblin hopped off his little pedestal and (walked?) wadelled back to behind the counter. A few minutes later he waddled his way back out. “Nailteeth will see you now. 

Nailteeth? Who in the frozen hells is Nailteeth. He followed the goblin back behind the counter and down several flights of stairs. Coming to a large door labeled accounts. As well as sever names listed below. Potter, Malfoy, Bones, Greengrass, Nott and several other he didn't care to read. 

The goblin, Nailteeth, looked up from his desk as Bahamut walked in. “ah, Mr. Potter. I've been wondering when you would finally come see me. We here at gringotts consider it very rude to when we get no reply when we make the effort to make several inquiries.” placing its gnarled hands in front of it. Seemingly so out of place amongst the golden knick knacks scattered around his desk. 

“Inquiries?” he arched his brow. “What inquiries?” he sat down in front of the old goblins desk in one of the high backed leather chairs obviously placed there for those much larger than the creature that was currently regarding him as one regards rotted meat. 

Nailteeth gave him a sharp look. “I take it you never received our letters concerning your inheritance?” 

“No.” Bahamut crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in the chair. Regarding the goblin much the same as he was. “I was unaware i even had an inheritance until just a few days ago. Even then, i was unable to properly examine the vault as the half breed had made an effort to deny me access by taking my vault key with him.” 

The goblin narrowed his eyes at him, not being one to back down Bahamut leveled his stare at the creature. The goblin slammed his book shut, startling the old wyrm. “Follow me, Mr. potter.” 

After his rather quick introduction to his accounts manager, Bahamut was becoming increasingly aware of one particular aspect of his new existence. He hated paperwork. He honestly thought the little creature was trying a discrete new technique for tearing someone's wrist off. Seriously, how many properties and holdings had this body’s family owned. Houses in America, India, Egypt and France. Companies and patents held or started by great grandpa who-the-fuck-cares. When the short bastard had finally finished he felt exhausted, drained and like his wrist bones might have needed replaced.

“Now, then.” Nailteeth said as he straightened and finalized the last of those damnable documents. “There’s one last item on the agenda.” the old goblin straightened up before hopping off his high chair. “If you’ll follow me we shall head down to your family vault to retrieve your head of house ring.” 

“Hooray…” Bahamut muttered as he followed the goblin out the door. 

Soon after he found himself zooming along in a rickety old cart down tracks that seemed to have been laid by the world's most inebriated group of circus clowns. That would have to be the only explanation of the logic of whatever brain dead thing that thought it would be a good idea to have a transportation system made like this! 

Soon enough, though not as soon as he would have prefered, the cart gently came to a stop at its final destination, grateful for the now lack of motion. While very ungrateful for loss of his lunch over the side of the tracks. Silver lining though was the very indignant scream he heard after a few seconds of losing said lunch. It seemed whatever power put him here might have a sense of humor after all. 

“This way Mr. Potter.” the goblin lead him towards a his vault. Which after regaining his head and balance and following the old creature was a very anticlimactic experience. The two large stone doors that greeted him were not really what he was expecting. “One moment please.” the goblin reached into his sleeve before withdrawing a small ornate golden key and inserting it into the lock. An orchestra of clicks and locking mechanisms clicking and moving could be heard afterwards. All-in-all, it was surprisingly pleasant to the ears. 

Bahamut let out a low whistle as the doors parted and he began his trek into the vault. High arched ceilings and caverns of priceless ancient artifacts and piles of gold greeted his eyes. Painting he was sure he saw in art books and museums littered the walls, unlike there stationary counterpart these all moved and made soft sounds as he passed them. Their occupants gossipping and pointing as he passed. Though none seemed in any particular mood to talk to him, just about him. So he ignored them and followed the little creature deeper into the vault. Nailteeth, was leading him back towards a back corner of the chamber. Where two rings sat in a marble pedestal, right besides what looked like a recreation of a large study. Various papers and books were strewn across the large redwood desk that sat at its center. 

“wonder what a child doin’ ‘ere?” Bahamut stopped dead in his tracks at that voice. He took a small sniff of the air. The smell of decay and fresh dirt struck him. It was so very faint. But it was there. “why e’ stop?” the voice mused. “De little green mon say somethin’ perhaps?” he started walking again. Ignoring the voice for now, and catching up with Nailteeth. 

The goblin stopped in front of the pedestal before reaching and grabbing one of the rings. The creature did and abrupt ‘about face and handed him the ring. “Put that on and you’ll be officially recognized as lord Potter.” nodding Bahamut slipped the ring on his finger and waited. After a few boring seconds the goblin nodded it's’ shriveled head. Apparently satisfied with the outcome. “Will there be anything else, lord Potter?” 

“No.” came his short reply. “Would you mind leaving me for awhile? I feel like taking a look at these books” he said, while walking over to the old desk. 

“Of course” and with that the goblin left, sealing the door as he went. 

Bahamut waited until he heard the last lock slide into place before whipping around to face the direction of the voice. In truth he was expecting, well... death. Not who ever this was. The dark skinned man stood in the corner of the room. His face and lips painted white to resemble a skull. A loose black pinstripe suit adorned the man. Though it looked worn and disheveled it denoted some meger sense of importance. Three animal teeth hung from a necklace and a top hat with a flask of some kind strapped to it sat neatly on his head. What struck Bahamut most was the blood red of his eyes and the python that was swung carlesly about his neck. The beasts eyes the same striking color of of its master.

How strange, bahamut thought as he approached the man. You never see true spirits anymore. Just those weird memory echos that tried to pass themselves off as ghosts. Sure they were good at fooling the humans but they were basically worthless. Not like this though. This thing had power, real tangible power. He could use that. 

There was a stand with a book sitting next to the spirit. He walked over to it and flipped it open. “Oh? De little mon takkin’ a interest in old Samedi? To bad ‘e can’t hear me or see me.” the spirit, apparently called Samedi, mused to himself. Samedi began to circle Bahamut looking him over with great interest. “Been abused, no doubt. Can’ hide de bruises from Ghede eye’s” Samedi frowned deeply. “Maybe if he takes da ring i can find out who did dis’ an throw a few curses der’ way. “ 

A vain twitched on Bahamut's head as he slammed the book shut. “Do you mind?” he leveled a glare at Samedi. “I’m trying to read here.” 

Samedi jaw nearly hit the floor as reared back from Bahamut. “You can see me!” it was more of a statement than a question. “You can hear me, to?” Samedi’s mouth hung agape in that moment. 

“Yes, i can see you.” Bahamut turned back to the book. “So, tell me, what’s a spirit of the grave doing in a vault in London?” leisurely turning a page. 

It took a second for Samedi to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Bound.” he said. “To de ring.” as he pointed to the ornate silver ring that sat innocently on a pillow on top of a marble pillar a few feet away. “How can you see me?” Samedi asked, perplexed. 

“Human eyes are so… primitive. Wouldn't you agree?” Bahamut glanced back at Samedi. His eyes glowing a faint green as he pushed a spark of draconic magic into them. “Can’t see what’s in front of them unless they really open them.” 

Alright, so maybe asking some random voodoo spirit to look at your soul could, perhaps, have been classified as a bad idea. Sure the man had been, to put it lightly, mildly traumatized by seeing a fraction of his true form, but he was a big boy. He could get over it… right? In any case, that brought them to right now. Sitting in a couple of high backed chairs in the middle of a huge vault, kilometers below london, nursing a couple of glasses of an amber colored alcohol he had found near the desk in the far corner of the room. Ogdens firewater, or something to that effect. Damn good stuff to. “So…” came the voice of the spirit to his right, breaking Bahamut out of his thoughts. “You’re a…” 

“Yes” 

“Trapped in a…” 

Bahamut hummed in an affirmative way. 

“An’ ya got no idea…”

Bahamut sighed before standing up and running a hand through his messy black hair. “Not a one, mate.” he turned to the dark skinned spirit. “You know you’re the first person…” he paused, “spirit… thing, i’ve told since it became stuck in this…” he gestured to his body in contempt. “I have to say, it feels a little refreshing.” 

Samedi took a long drink from his glass of fire whiskey, a look of deep thought on his face. Bahamut wasn't actually sure how he was drinking considering the man had no physical body to speak of, but small amounts of liquid disappeared every time he took a pull from his glass. He eyed Bahamut for a minute then shook his head. “I don’ tink i can help ‘ere. Got plenty o’ a old an powerful hoodoo spells an’ rituals floatin around me ‘ead. But none come close ta bindin’ somtin’ like you.” 

Bahamut scowled before he plopping down in his chair once again. “I didn't expect you to.” he took another pull from his firewhiskey. “So what about you? How’d a voodoo - what did you call yourself again?” 

“Loa”

“Right. So how did a Voodoo loa, end up here of all places?” Bahamut looked expectantly at the minor godling. 

“You see dat fucken man over dere. Da one snoozen in his portrait?” he gestured to the wall of sleeping portraits. Specifically to one resting on the floor. Its occupant could be an older sibling to this body. It makes sense since it’s probably an ancestor of it. “Name o’ Chalus Potter.” he said the name with as much disdain as he could muster. “Man comes into my graveyard during a voodoo ritual. Notin serious jus’ good people tryin’ win favor wit us. One of da few times we get to experience real life is when we mount a person. Well, ‘ere come brave little charlus, sticken ‘is nose where it don’ fucken belong.” 

no, Bahamut thought, he’s not bitter at all. 

“Tinks’ we be dark spirits or sometin’. Starts droppin ma priests an followers like dere flys. legba, starts usherin us back to our realm. It’s slow, de gap between our fucken worlds aint dat big. Starts shoutin’ spells den, BAM!” Samedi slams his hand down on his knee. “ i wake up here. Bound to dat old iron ring. Can’ touch de dam ting’.” 

Bahamut stood and walked to the ring in question. He picked it up and examined it. On the surface it looked like any commonplace iron band. On closer inspection into the inside of the ring there were intricately woven, interconnected jumble of old celtic and norse runes. Widening his gaze into the ethereal spectrum revealed further runes carved into the surface of the ring. He scowled at this. Right at the heart of the array was a rune not written in celtic or norse, but draconic. A powerful binding rune originally used to bind the more… rambunctious elemental spirit. “Look here.” he pointed to the rune as Samedi walked over. “See this rune?” 

“No.” 

Bahamut arched an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Really.” Samedi replied in a dry tone. Bahamut sighed at this before explaining to the old spirit what was engraved on the ring. Needless to say Samedi wasn't thrilled with the news. “So what do ya tink’ it means? Can’ be a coincidence. Can’ it?.” 

“Maybe.” bahamut scratched his chin. “I mean draconic isn't exactly a common language. it’s also not a language many humans know. They think we’re mindless beasts. I mean the young drakes are. But not the ancients or the adults. But for a human to learn… it’s a feat i’ll admit that.” he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Draconic runes are powerful and old. Not powerful enough to bind me. You, easily.” he gestured to Samedi. “There are only about three older languages. Primordial, sylvan and celestial. I doubt sylvan could. Fey creatures usually never bound anything to my knowledge. Celestial, definitely could, but there’s not a being in the world who could even comprehend that language. Myself included. “ He paused in thought for a few minutes. “ i never even thought to check for primordial magics. I was too preoccupied with being trapped.” 

Baron Samedi was silent for a awhile. Taking in and digesting new information about magics that were, to put it mildly, far beyond his reach and understanding. He honestly thought himself a fairly powerful loa. Being a master of death was nothing to scoff at after all. But in light of information that made his powers seem like baby's’ first necromancy was… unsettling. 

Sensing the tension in the room. Samedi decided that now was as good a time as any for a smoke. Took off his hat and produced a cigar from it and bit off the end, before snapping his finger, a small flame igniting from his thumb, and lit it. Bahamut didn’t seem to notice or if he did did not comment on the now smoking loa. They sat in comfortable silence for a time before bahamut stood and took to studying the ring, again. “So tell me, how long after i put this ring on are you going to try and possess me?” he asked, eyeing the runes on the outside of the ring. 

Samedi laughed. A loud full bodied laugh that echoed around the chamber. “Me friend, i couldn't possess ya on ma best day and your worst. Also we call it mounting, not possessing.” the old loa walked over to Bahamut and put a hand on his shoulder. “So? Ya gonna bust me out o’ ma prison.” 

Bahamut shrugged before slipping the ring on his finger. Satisfied after a few seconds of nothing he put his hands on his pockets before heading for the vault door, and the sour faced goblin that awaited him outside and a madly grinning loa behind him.


End file.
